You Make Me Feel So Alive
by Bella Kundu
Summary: Blaine and Kurt never truly lived until they found each other. A collection of missing moments from Season 3 in which they discover just how alive their shared love has made them.
1. Safety

**Welcome to a series of one-shots centered around Blaine and Kurt. I have far too many ideas demanding to be written, and I can't possibly create an entire story around each one, so I'm going to post them all here. Some will be original, others will be centered around a particular episode, and others will just be random. I'm open to prompts, even though I already have a fanfiction that is strictly for prompts. So enjoy these little bursts of Klaine!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Glee_. I also don't own the beautiful song _The Muse_ by Darren Criss, from which I got the title of this.**

**This first chapter is an extension of Blaine and Finn's scene in the choir room in _Pot O' Gold_, because I couldn't believe that Kurt would do nothing - and that the writers haven't yet addressed Finn's problem with Blaine.**

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><p><strong>Safety<strong>

Blaine had always thought of Finn as a well-intentioned, though sometimes misguided, brother to him - easygoing, lighthearted, and naturally friendly. Now, as Finn glared across the choir room at him, his eyes full of a fire and spite Blaine had never seen there before, Blaine saw none of those endearing qualities that he'd come to love over the summer.

"I know you were a big deal at Dalton, or whatever," Finn said coldly, his loud voice even more conspicuously harsh in the echoing silence of the choir room, "but we don't wear blazers here."

Blaine stared back at Finn, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he tried to piece together what connection the blazers possibly had to Finn's irrational rage. Finn's fists clenched at his sides and he leaned forward almost imperceptibly, his height becoming menacing when it wasn't complemented by Finn's usual goofy grin. Blaine's eyes widened slightly as he felt unsafe for the very first time at McKinley - worse than when the first freezing slushie had splashed down his neck or when Azimio slammed his locker shut in his face as he passed by in the hallways. Everyone in the New Directions always talked about how _accepted_ they felt in the choir room - but Blaine saw nothing but hostility in the faces of everyone around him.

"So have a seat, I'm trying to give a pep talk," Finn's voice recalled Blaine from his momentary flash of fear.

Blaine fought the urge to look away from Finn's ice-cold glare, forcing his eyes to dart up and meet Finn's long enough to murmur quiescently, "Didn't you just say something about us not turning on each other?" He ducked his head and sank slowly back into his uncomfortable plastic chair without waiting for a response, sure that everyone in the room could hear his racing heart pounding out of his chest. He could feel Kurt looking over at him cautiously, trying to gauge his expression. Blaine lifted his head, and managed a small reassuring smile for Kurt, discreetly mouthing the words "_It's fine_."

Kurt gave a relived sigh, and patted Blaine's knee, the touch suddenly striking Blaine as condescending. Blaine was looking down again, but his eyes cut swiftly to the side when Kurt removed his hand, and he marveled at how Kurt was already relaxed again, giving some enthusiastic input on whatever Mr. Schuester had just suggested. If the roles had been reversed, if it had been Kurt who was receiving Finn's furious glare, Blaine knew that he'd have been standing next to Kurt and fighting right back at Finn, not passively petting Kurt afterwards. He'd have said all the words that hadn't come to his lips five minutes earlier - that Finn was being cruel, and petty, and a small-minded bully.

Blaine bit his lip, realizing that Kurt was the one who rushed headlong into confrontations. The one who never failed to speak up, who always declared exactly what he thought without any regard towards where he was or who was listening. The one who should have spoken up earlier. Blaine pressed his hands together and blew out a frustrated breath he didn't know he'd been holding, staring across at Kurt again, who was now watching Rachel with that same kicked-puppy attitude he'd been maintaining towards her for the past week. Blaine's anger melted just a bit as he realized that Kurt had his own problems, that he couldn't be concerned with Finn, who was always bumbling and awkward anyway and possibly hadn't even meant any harm. Blaine turned his attention back to Mr. Schuester, struggling not to replay Finn's words and tone in his mind, and trying to ignore the nagging feeling that Finn _had _very deliberately meant harm, and that Kurt had ignored it.

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><p>"Do you want to stop at the Lima Bean on the way home?" Kurt asked cheerfully on the way out of school after rehearsal, slipping his arm comfortably through Blaine's. "You look like you could use a pick-me-up."<p>

_So he _had_ noticed_, Blaine thought to himself, _he just didn't bother to say anything when it was relevant. _Blaine sighed, trying to be patient and not listen to the lingering voice telling him that Kurt had done nothing because he simply didn't care. "No, I have a lot of homework, and I think I'll just... head home. Thanks for the offer, though," he smiled weakly, rubbing Kurt's arm lightly.

Kurt looked over, his eyes narrowing. "We have most of our classes together, so I know for a fact that you hardly have any homework tonight," Kurt said sharply. "If you don't want to go, you can just say so. Or at least come up with a good excuse," Kurt added, nudging Blaine playfully.

When Kurt's gentle teasing failed to elicit a response, Kurt sighed and dropped his playful charade, stopping and pulling his arm out of Blaine's, gripping his shoulders instead so that he could turn Blaine to face him. "What?" Kurt demanded.

Blaine looked up, widening his eyes with mock surprise and feigning innocence. "What are you talking about?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Don't be a child, Blaine. I'm talking about the fact that you barely said anything all through Glee Club, and now you're making up reasons not to go to the Lima Bean, which means you're mad at me."

"Maybe I'm just not in the mood for coffee," Blaine mumbled, resisting the urge to cross his arms because pouting would only make him more "childlike" in Kurt's eyes.

Kurt slid his hands down Blaine's arms, gently squeezing his biceps and moving down his wrists. "Here. Give me your hands," he coaxed, and Blaine reluctantly uncurled his fingers from the fists they'd been in so that Kurt's nimble, warm fingers could wrap around them. "You practically inhale coffee when something's bothering you, and you're clearly bothered, which means that you just don't want to get coffee with _me._"

Blaine bit his lip. The last thing he wanted to do was blame Kurt, but he knew that if he started talking he'd eventually wind up doing just that.

"Come on, spill. You know I'll find out anyway," Kurt urged.

_You should already know,_ Blaine wanted to snarl. For an instant he hated Kurt's obliviousness, and he snapped irritably, "Ever thought that possibly I barely say anything in Glee Club because your brother jumps at my throat whenever I do?"

Kurt stared blankly for a moment, dumbfounded, and then smiled sympathetically and said, "Oh, Blaine, it's _Finn_, you know how he is. He doesn't think, he just... talks."

Blaine narrowed his eyes. How could Kurt dismiss him so easily? Blaine replied angrily, "Yeah? Well, fine, even if Finn _is_ strangely exempt from normal rules of courtesy, what about you? _You_ think, and you certainly _talk_, but I'm evidently not important enough for you to waste your breath on my defense!" Blaine's voice cracked conspicuously, and he dropped his gaze, not particularly caring to see the expression in Kurt's eyes and wanting to hide the hurt he knew was in his. He withdrew his hands from Kurt's and had begun to turn away when Kurt's hand suddenly appeared on Blaine's shoulder, the touch restraining him without using any force.

"What, Kurt?" Blaine sighed, growing exasperated with himself as his frustration dissolved into sadness and defeat. "I know, I shouldn't have yelled at you, I'm sorry, okay? I get it, you're busy, you have the election and everything, and I can take care of myself. I-" Blaine stopped talking as Kurt laid his finger lightly against his lips, effectively silencing him.

"I don't take care of you?" Kurt asked blankly. A semblance of revelation dawned in Kurt's eyes, and he stared at Blaine as if seeing him clearly for the first time. "Oh. _Oh._ I don't take care of you," Kurt continued, and this time it wasn't a question. His hand fell limply from Blaine's lips and his face shifted into a mask of remorse. "I just assume that you're always the one with courage. I've been awful, I've been so preoccupied..." Kurt trailed off, and looked at Blaine, his expression soft and apologetic. "I'm the one who should be sorry."

Blaine took a shaky breath and closed his eyes. "I know," he whispered, his voice strained under the effort to keep it steady. "I just... you told me I'd be safe at McKinley, that things had changed, gotten better, and I never expected that Glee Club would be the place I felt the _least_ safe. All of you _belong_, even Rory - thanks to Finn - and somehow I'm the one who doesn't." Blaine's eyelids fluttered slightly as he felt Kurt's hand come up to curve around his cheek, and he leaned into the gentle caress, sighing softly as he felt Kurt's thumb brushing lightly across his cheekbone. "I don't get it. Finn and I were fine over the summer - even when I was still the competition. And it's not just because I'm new - he loves Rory."

"Blaine. Open your eyes. Listen to me." Blaine opened his eyes slowly, watching Kurt warily as Kurt took Blaine's face into his hands. "Finn is jealous of you. You threaten him. Your voice, your talent, your charisma, your role of Tony. Especially Tony."

"Tony? He didn't even audition. _You're_ the one who's suppose to be jealous of that."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Not the part - he's jealous of you and Rachel as Tony and Maria. You have to admit. You're _her _Tony. She admires you for your acting and your singing. It makes you worthy of jealousy."

Now it was Blaine's turn to stare blankly. "But I'm gay," he said simply. "She's always freaking out that we won't have the right chemistry because of it."

Kurt smiled, going back to stroking Blaine's face. "But Finn knows better. He sees the chemistry you two have and he's jealous of it." Kurt smirked slightly. "Come to think of it, maybe I should be jealous of you, too. After all, when I tried to kiss her she laughed in my face."

Blaine relaxed slightly and a grin tugged on the corners of his lips. "Are you sure that's all his problem is? He doesn't really... hate me?"

"Blaine Anderson, I never knew you to care so much about what someone thought of you," Kurt teased lightly. "But yes, I'm sure. Finn isn't capable of hating anybody."

"I have to care, he might be my brother in-law someday," Blaine answered, a laugh in his voice.

Kurt smiled back and leaned in to give Blaine a lingering kiss. "I like the way you think, Anderson," he said, pressing his forehead against Blaine's and gazing longingly into Blaine's soft, dark eyes.

"How about that coffee?" Blaine whispered, looking back fondly. He extended his hand out to Kurt and the two set off across the parking lot together, Blaine's head leaning lightly against Kurt's shoulder.

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><p><strong>Review? They mean the world to me. Happy Thanksgiving, if you celebrate it, and have a lovely day if you don't!<strong>


	2. Perfect

**This chapter is Blaine's point of view on what happened before, during, and after the auditorium scene in _First Time_. Inspired by the Klaine version of the song "Perfect," even though that wasn't even from the same episode.**

**Warnings: Angst and lots of fluff. Beware if you don't like sappy, sentimental endings the way I do. Contains a lot of dialogue from _First Time_, which I clearly don't own, because if I did I would have left Finn and Rachel out of it and made the whole episode about Klaine. Also, spoilers for _West Side Story_, so if you don't want to know how the musical ends, then skip over the first paragraph. Even though I'm pretty sure we all know what happens.**

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><p><strong>Perfect<strong>

Blaine held as still as he could, his body tense despite his efforts to keep it properly limp - a tall order seeing as he was crumpled uncomfortably on the auditorium stage in front of a full house who'd come to see _West Side Story._ The fact that Rachel - or Maria, rather - was bent over him, cradling Tony's dead body in her arms, did nothing to lessen his tension. He'd had no time to stop and catch his breath during the entire musical, and this was the first time he'd been still enough to have a chance to go over in his mind every misstep and wrong note that he'd hit. For someone who was supposed to be playing a dead person, his heart was beating awfully fast, and he wondered that the whole audience couldn't hear it and see his chest rising and falling with his anxious breathing.

Rachel's voice held the last, long note of "Somewhere" and then the swishing noise of the curtain falling brought Blaine back to reality. He scrambled up from his prone position to his feet and brushed himself off, almost in a daze as he became conscious of the thunderous applause from the audience. Rachel came up behind him and Blaine stood straighter as the curtain was drawn back again, allowing him to finally face the audience without nervous anxiety. They were on their feet, cheering and clapping, and Blaine's eyes sought out the three rows of seats occupied by the Warblers. He was vaguely aware of Rachel taking his hand and bowing with him before the audience, but he kept his gaze riveted on the familiar faces, on Wes's smile of approval and David's overly enthusiastic cheering, even on Sebastian's narrow, pointed face and glittering ice blue eyes. Anything to avoid seeing the other two seats with the best acoustics in the room that he'd specifically reserved, the ones that he knew now would be conspicuously empty.

Blaine was strangely grateful when the applause finally ceased and the curtain fell for the last time to hide him from the hundreds of watching eyes. Taking a deep breath, he let go of Rachel's hand, which had been gripping his painfully tightly, and he was turning to head backstage when Mike came up to him and thumped him on the shoulder, grinning. "You were great," Mike smiled. "Do you need a ride to Breadstix for the after-party?"

Blaine jumped slightly, remembering about the party for the first time that night. He looked around at the rest of cast, who were beaming and hugging each other, taking awed peeks out at the slowly dwindling audience. He tried to look on at them from outside himself and wondered idly if he appeared as distant from them as he felt. All he could really think about was his parents, who were probably sipping wine at some fancy restaurant, already having forgotten to ask him later on how his opening night was. Blaine blinked as he came back to the present, and looked at Mike's expectant face. He smiled halfheartedly as he answered slowly, "No, I'll follow a bit later. There are some steps I want to rehearse before tomorrow's show."

"Want help? I could show you."

Blaine inclined his head slightly as thanks, but said, "No, I know the steps, I just need to practice. You go on to the party."

Mike patted his shoulder and walked off, and Blaine made himself as inconspicuous as possible, busying himself with clearing up props and avoiding the costume section, where he knew Kurt would be working. At last everyone seemed to have left and Blaine slipped back onto the stage, positioning himself carefully over his mark and bending his knees, trying to glide across the stage without tripping over his own ankles, spinning in a circle and then crouching to touch the stage with his right hand while still keeping form.

If he could just manage to hold his arms at the correct angle next time… maybe then he'd be good enough for his parents to be occupying those two seats he'd bought for them. The ones he couldn't bear not to purchase, just in case they changed their minds, even after his mother had patted his cheek and said lightly, "Blaine, darling, you know your father has to meet with a client, and how would it look if I was away to see a musical instead of at dinner?" Or perhaps if he learned to hold that note a few seconds longer… then they'd want to see him perform… Blaine shook his head at his own foolishness and mouthed the words to "Tonight" as he circled the stage again. _As if Dad would be _pleased_ that I spent any more time learning to sing and dance…_

"Shouldn't you be celebrating?" Blaine heard Kurt's voice before he noticed the footsteps, and he looked up in surprise to see Kurt just emerging from the wings of the stage.

Blaine took in Kurt's guarded expression, the way his hands were shoved into the pockets of his skinny jeans, how he kept back as if afraid to encroach on Blaine. "I'm going over this move, I messed it up tonight," Blaine answered, hearing how dejected his own voice sounded, but unable to put any more life into it when he added, "I know I can do it better." He threw his hands up almost helplessly, letting them smack limply back down on his thighs.

Blaine looked away and returned to the dance, not wanting to have to see any longer the way Kurt stood away from him. They'd kept their distance since the night at Scandals, and Blaine hated the way he couldn't bridge the gap between himself and Kurt. In a very superficial way, they hadn't changed - they still walked to class together and exchanged the same quick pecks on the cheek. But underneath that, nothing was as it had been. The kisses stolen between class had lost their glow of suppressed passion, their covert glances were wary instead of warm, and even when they held hands Blaine had never felt further apart.

The silence that had settled stiffly between them was broken as Kurt took a couple of steps forward and murmured, "Beauty of the stage. And you get to do it all over again tomorrow." Blaine stopped again and turned to face Kurt, understanding that Kurt was trying, and that he had to make an effort as well if they were ever going to return to normalcy. Kurt offered a small smile. "Personally, I thought both of you guys were perfect." _If only_, Blaine thought bitterly. _If I was perfect, Mom and Dad would have been here._

Instead of saying this, he glanced down almost shyly and said, "Thank you." There was a beat of silence, and Blaine, more out of need to fill the void than anything else, added, "Your Office Krupke killed. Brought the house down." Blaine sighed quietly. _Conversation between them had always come so easily before…_

A genuine grin pulled at Kurt's lips, and Blaine remembered how susceptible Kurt was to flattery as he replied in a voice Blaine felt like he hadn't heard in ages, "Well, I can't help but pull focus, sorry."

"Don't apologize, it was great," Blaine said, his own smile fading a bit as he remembered that _he_ was the one who had everything to apologize for.

Kurt stared back, and Blaine could see him struggling to find a response. Blaine, too, was racking his mind for something to say when Kurt took a nervous breath and spoke quickly, nearly tripping over his words in his hurry to say them. "All your friends are here tonight."

Blaine just barely kept the remnants of his smile from slipping from his face and he nodded, looking away and to the side for a moment, giving himself time to reign in his reaction to the double meaning he'd constructed from the well-intentioned sentence. _Yes, _a voice in Blaine's mind spoke up. _All your friends managed to make time for this, yet your parents didn't care to do the same._

"The Warblers," Kurt was continuing. "Sebastian. They were all loving it." Blaine could hear the jealousy in his boyfriend's voice despite Kurt's obvious effort to conceal it, and he shook off his own melancholy. That wasn't important at the moment. Kurt was. Kurt deserved better than this distracted, stiff exchange.

Blaine looked up at Kurt again once he was sure that his face no longer held any trace of disappointment, and he found himself hating the stretch of stage separating them, wanting nothing more than to close the distance. "Come here," Blaine said quietly, beckoning Kurt over by cocking his head. Kurt came slowly, his eyes alight as if he knew what was about to happen, as if he'd been waiting for this barrier to dissolve just as anxiously as Blaine had been. "Give me your hand." Blaine curled his fingers around Kurt's palm and raised it, placing it gently against Kurt's chest and then pressing his own hand over it. "Hold it to your heart."

"Just like the song?" Kurt asked, smiling with his eyes for the first time in days.

Blaine relaxed slightly, Kurt's face putting him at ease. It felt like it had been so long since he and Kurt were close enough to know what the other was thinking. "Like the song."

Kurt looked on at Blaine, waiting, and Blaine carefully memorized every facet of Kurt's expression, discovering for the millionth time that he loved Kurt more than he'd ever thought possible. "Kurt," he whispered, voice thick with sincerity, "Sebastian doesn't mean anything to me. And you were right. Our first time shouldn't be like that. I was drunk, and I'm sorry." Blaine gazed anxiously at Kurt, painfully aware that the words were not anywhere near powerful enough to show Kurt just how remorseful he was.

Kurt's mouth twisted into a very familiar, albeit small smirk and answered lightly, "Well, it sure beats the last time you were drunk and made out with Rachel."

Blaine let out a sound that was half chuckle, half groan, and bent his head to hide the guilt on his face. He could hear Kurt laughing too, and Blaine shook his head ruefully.

"But I'm sorry, too," Kurt said, growing serious again. "I wanted to be your gay bar superstar, but… try as I might, I'm still just a silly romantic."

Blaine's heart broke as he realized that, in the midst of his drunkenness and then his preoccupation with his parents and the musical, he'd made Kurt feel _inadequate_, of all things. As if Sebastian's self-absorbed showing off could compete with Kurt's tender gestures and angelic voice and boundless heart. What kind of monster would make Kurt think that he wasn't _good enough_, that he had anything to be sorry for? "It's not silly," Blaine whispered, putting everything that he couldn't find the words to say into a soft, passionate kiss.

The wary tension between them evaporated, and Kurt's arms came up to wrap loosely around Blaine's neck as he pressed his forehead against Blaine's, whispering, "You take my breath away."

Blaine looked up, hoping that the expression in his eyes would do justice to the gratitude overwhelming him. Kurt slid his hands down to take hold of Blaine's shoulders, pushing him back just far enough to be able to look at him properly as he elaborated, "Not just now, but tonight on that stage. I was so proud to be with you."

Blaine swallowed hard against the ache that was swelling in his throat. "I hope so," he managed to whisper. Kurt had finally spoken the words he'd wanted to hear from somebody, from _anybody_, for _so long_. Words of approval, words telling him that he was worth something, that he was deserving of pride. Blaine could feel tears welling up in his eyes and blinked against them, trying to preserve whatever fragments of his dignity that remained. "I want you to be," he choked out, voice breaking.

Blaine looked down for a moment to collect himself and finally mustered a smile and asked, his voice under control now, "Artie's having an after-party at Breadstix. Would you… accompany me?" Blaine cocked his head to the side and grinned, expectant.

"No." Before Blaine had time to be disappointed, or even shocked, Kurt was continuing, "I want to go to your house."

Blaine heard his own sharp intake of breath, and he looked at Kurt with a mix of caution and suppressed excitement. "Are you sure?"

Kurt didn't hesitate. "Absolutely." He paused for a moment, and then added teasingly, "Unless you know a place where we can find that field of lilacs."

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><p>Afterwards, Blaine nestled against Kurt, marveling at how well his head fit into the neat little dip at the center of Kurt's collarbone. He smiled softly as he felt Kurt pressing a gentle kiss into the curls at the top of his head that had freed themselves from his hair gel. "I love you," Blaine sighed blissfully.<p>

Kurt shifted underneath him, and Blaine knew that Kurt was raising his head to look down at him. "I love you, too." Kurt ran his hands over Blaine's warm back and leaned down to brush his lips against the curve of Blaine's ear and whisper, "You're so perfect, you know that?"

Blaine looked up, abruptly on the verge of tears again. "Nobody's ever said that to me before," he whispered unsteadily. "Because I'm not. Look at what I did to you at Scandals - that's not perfection, Kurt."

Kurt gently pushed Blaine off of him, nudging Blaine to get him to roll onto his side so that they were facing each other. Kurt reached up and slid his left hand between the pillow and Blaine's face while lightly stroking Blaine's other cheek with the fingertips of his right hand. "You didn't _do_ anything to me at Scandals. We were both being stupid and immature, but that doesn't make you any less deserving of my love."

Blaine glanced down, embarrassed, his wet eyelashes casting long shadows over the curve of his cheekbone. "Okay. I didn't mean to make a _thing_ out of this. It doesn't matter."

But Kurt was relentless, lifting Blaine's chin up with his finger until they made eye contact again. "It does matter. If you weren't flawed you wouldn't be _you_. But your flaws don't mar you, they're what make you perfect."

"That's all I've ever wanted to hear," Blaine whispered.

Kurt propped himself up on an elbow and tenderly kissed each of Blaine's eyelids, and then his lips. "Then I won't ever forget to keep on telling you."

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><p><strong>I know, I'm a sucker for angst. I was really unsure about this chapter, so I'd love any feedback. Thanks for reading!<strong>


	3. Regret

**Here is another _First Time_ one-shot for you all. It's pretty late to be writing about _First Time_, but I'm not able to watch the episodes until a week after they air on TV, so they are always going to be somewhat late if they're episode-related. I know that most of the _First Time _one-shots have already been done many times over by now, but I needed to get this out of my head and once I wrote it I figured I might as well post it. I hope you like it!**

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><p><strong>Regret<strong>

_"I think I'm just going to walk home."_ Blaine regretted the words before he'd even turned away to leave. Before he heard Kurt's broken voice screaming his name so desperately. Before he found himself lost in the dark, in the middle of nowhere at the outskirts of Lima, graffiti-covered buildings rising up on either side of him like prison walls. He knew those angry words were wrong, and he was sure that it was that sentence, not just the alcohol, that was leaving the sour taste in his mouth.

But once he'd said them and thrown up his hands in a gesture so frustrated and angry that he'd made Kurt flinch even though they were several feet apart, it was too late to take them back the way he wanted to. They were there, hanging thickly in the chilled space between them, and Blaine had left himself with choice but to shove his hands into his pockets and turn away from Kurt's shocked, pained face, striding between the shabby cars and onto the sidewalk.

Blaine's feet dragged and suddenly he felt like he couldn't breath, like even the effort to make his chest rise and fall was suffocating him. His head spun, and he stopped, bending over himself and clutching his hands across his stomach as he tried to catch his breath. Memories of the past half hour came rushing back with shocking clarity, and Blaine was drowning in them, panting, his hands braced on his knees. _Kurt's hot, smooth skin under his fumbling hands as he groped for the edge of Kurt's shirt. The dizzying smell of the leather car seats mingling with his own sweat. The solid, warm weight of Kurt's body pressed against his and squirming above him. _And then the memory soured, making Blaine cringe just from the recollection. _Kurt's cold hands pushing his away, grasping around his wrists and holding them back. The high, piercing sound of Kurt's protests as they escalated from frantic to furious. Confusion. Rejection. And then worst of all - Blaine's own anger._ Blaine found that his mind had abruptly, painfully, become capable of reason again. He was terrible - a monster. After all their promises of moving slowly and going at Kurt's pace, he'd _pressured _Kurt, tried to steal something irrevocable from him in the dirty parking lot of a grimy bar.

Blaine's shallow breathing quickened, and he closed his eyes in an attempt to calm down and fight against the way the alcohol was blurring his mind. He tried to inhale evenly through his nose, hardly caring about the staring strangers that hurried quickly by until he heard the sound of a car slowing down to a stop alongside him.

"Need a ride?"

Blaine barely looked up in the direction of the gruff voice that had spoken from the cab of the beat-up Chevy, and before he realized what he was saying, he'd answered "yes" and was tugging open the door to the passenger side. He had no idea where he wanted to go, but Blaine was sure that he couldn't get anywhere on his own in his present state, and he met the eyes of the driver for the first time, ready to offer thanks.

Blaine's words froze on his lips as he really _saw_ the man at the wheel for the first time. "Oh. It's _you_."

Dave Karofsky gave him a thin-lipped grin and said, "Hello to you, too."

"I don't think - " Blaine licked his suddenly dry lips and tried again, "I don't think I need a ride, after all."

Karofsky smirked at Blaine's transparent backtracking and chuckled, "Come on, get in. I'm not going to do anything to you!" He held up his hands as if to prove his innocence and then reached over, patting the passenger seat. "You look like hell, but I've got to tell you, your boyfriend looks worse."

"You've seen Kurt?" Blaine's wariness shifted to concern in an instant, and he was balling up his fists at his sides. "If you hurt him, I swear to God, Karofsky -"

Dave's eyes widened in surprise at the accusation and he protested, "Kurt is fine! I _said_ I wasn't going to do anything, and I didn't. _You're _the one who abandoned him in a parking lot."

"I didn't-" Blaine began to argue at the word "abandoned," but he stopped short, realizing that that was just what he'd done. Instead, he clambered clumsily into the truck and looked across at Karofsky skeptically. "How do _you _know that I- that we fought?"

Dave scoffed and shifted the car into drive, pulling away from the curb and making a u-turn, taking Blaine in the direction he'd come. "Because you were screaming at each other at the top of your lungs."

"You were at Scandals?" Blaine's thick eyebrows furrowed as his bleary mind tried to make sense of the bits of information Karofsky was tossing out as if they were entirely predictable.

Dave glanced briefly at Blaine and, though he chuckled at the shock on Blaine's face, his voice was slightly defensive when he said, "Yeah, I go to a gay bar, what of it?"

Blaine peered sideways at Karofsky, and smiled halfheartedly when he saw that Dave, too, was trying to look over discreetly as he slowed to a stop at a traffic light, the muscles in his face tight and his expression guarded. "That's good," Blaine tried to encourage. "It's a first step-"

"I don't know you that well, Anderson, and this isn't a conversation we're having," Karofsky interrupted. Blaine drew back slightly and Karofsky added, his voice softening enough to no longer be menacing, "I'm just your ride."

As Karofsky spoke the words, Blaine looked out of the windows suddenly in surprise, paying attention for the first time to where they were going. The same flash of the paranoia that had struck him at Kurt's rejection returned in a different form and he asked, an edge of panic in his voice, "Where are you taking me?"

Dave snorted and laughed loudly, the sound much less rough and bitter than what Blaine remembered from their one short confrontation on the stairs at McKinley. "Keep your hair gel on, dude, I'm taking you back to Scandals."

Blaine scowled at the sleight to his hair and said, frowning, "I didn't ask you to take me there."

Dave raised his eyebrows. "You didn't ask me to take you _any_where. And even if you had, I picked you up to take you to Scandals."

"Why?"

Karofsky spun the steering wheel and pulled back into the now familiar parking lot of the bar, the loud neon lights making Blaine's headache throb. "Because I owe Kurt big time and this is how I'm going to start repaying him."

"By kidnapping me," Blaine clarified.

"No. By hauling you back here so you can apologize to Kurt and he can stop moping in your car."

Blaine snapped out of his drunken state and was instantly alert, the fog in his mind clearing suddenly. "Kurt's still here?" he asked incredulously.

Dave parked the truck and sat back in his seat, leaving the engine idling as he jerked his chin in the direction of one of the cars. "See for yourself."

Blaine followed Karofsky's gesture with his eyes until he caught sight of his own Honda, Kurt hunched in the driver's seat, his shoulders curving in and his head bowed over the steering wheel. A swirling sensation of guilt settled heavily in Blaine's chest and he fidgeted slightly, shuffling his feet and glancing uncomfortably at Karofsky.

"Did he ask you to get me?"

"No, obviously not. I wasn't about to drive all over Lima looking for you. But I was heading home, and you were there, and it was convenient."

Blaine frowned. "Well then I'm not going to go bother him. You overheard what he said earlier - he's disgusted with me."

Again, Dave snorted and looked at Blaine with seeming incredulity. "And here I was thinking you were such a smart prep kid. Don't you get it? He's disgusted with the guy who dragged him into the back of a car. You," - Karofsky poked Blaine's chest lightly to emphasize his point - "are not that guy right now."

When Blaine stared blankly, Dave chuckled and muttered, "Still too drunk to get it, I guess." He prodded Blaine lightly in the shoulder with the back of his knuckles, and nodded towards Blaine's Civic again. "Get out of my car, and get into your's so you can kiss and make up or whatever it is you guys do."

Blaine gave a small smile, appreciating the gesture even though he was still hesitant. "Thanks for the ride, I guess," he said rather doubtfully, swinging his legs out and hopping down from the truck.

Karofsky grinned. "I guess you're welcome, Anderson."

Blaine heard the truck's engine roar to life and pull away, and he had made it all the way to his own car before he realized that Kurt had the keys. He rapped lightly on the window with his knuckles, and cringed when Kurt flinched away from the sound, the gesture reminding him of Kurt's same movement when Blaine had hissed, _"Why are you yelling at me?" _just an hour earlier.

Kurt pale face stared up at Blaine from the window, his expression dissolving rapidly from startled to hurt. He looked devastated, his eyes flat, dead, devoid of their usual glimmer of life. Kurt glanced down at the door handle as if contemplating whether or not to open it, but a moment later his shoulders sagged as if in defeat, and he reached forward to unlatch the door and swing it open part way for Blaine.

They stared at each other as Blaine searched frantically for something to say, and then Kurt swallowed loudly and mumbled, looking steadfastly at a point just beyond Blaine's head instead of _at _him, "I thought you were walking home."

"I- I tried to, but I needed to come back." Realizing the white lie as he spoke the words, Blaine braced himself and admitted reluctantly, "Well, actually, Dave Karofsky picked me up and brought me back." There was no need, really, Blaine reasoned, to add that he hadn't realized that coming back was what he'd so desperately wanted to do until Kaorfsky had already made that decision.

Kurt sighed and turned away, staring blankly straight ahead over the steering wheel and worrying his lower lip with the edge of his teeth. On any other day, Blaine would have touched Kurt's mouth lightly with a finger and told him not to ruin those soft, perfect lips. Now, though, he asked in a small voice, "Can we just talk about this?" When Kurt made no move to respond, he added, "Please?" no longer caring about the fact that he was nearly begging.

Kurt leaned across the console, and flipped the lock on the passenger door. "It's open."

Blaine crossed in front of the car, feeling Kurt's eyes on him but afraid to look and meet them, and slid into the passenger side. Kurt was still staring ahead, frighteningly still. Blaine would have known what to do with anger and screaming and blame - would have welcomed it as what he deserved and then poured his heart out in an apology. But he hardly knew this cold, silent, porcelain statue.

"Why won't you talk to me?" Blaine asked, panic creeping into his voice. "You won't even look at me."

"You're the one who said you wanted to talk."

Blaine sighed in relief at hearing Kurt's voice even though the tone of it was chilling. He glanced at Kurt's crossed arms, and would have sworn that he saw the hand that was closer to him tighten just slightly, the nails curving into the soft palm, clenching the fist it had already formed.

"I don't know what to say, Kurt," Blaine said, figuring that that, at least, was honest. "I can't really say anything besides 'I'm sorry,' and I know that's not enough. I won't make an excuse."

"You _left _me," Kurt finally said, his voice cracking but the intonation in it less frightening than the cold, low monotone it had been before.

Blaine frowned, bewildered. "What? I thought… I tried to seduce you. But I didn't leave you."

"You walked away. I was calling after you for _forever_, and I was so sure you'd come back, and I _waited_, and you didn't, and…" Kurt trailed off, finally having turned to face Blaine, now glaring, his eyes ablaze and his nostrils flared and the delicate purple-blue veins that ran along the inside of his wrists standing out as he clenched his fists. "Don't you _get_ it? It's not what you tried to do - though that was bad enough. You had an excuse for that, you were drunk, which is almost as much Sebastian's fault as it is yours. But even drunk, I never thought you'd just… walk away. We don't do that. Or at least I thought we didn't."

Kurt stopped, breathing heavily, and then abruptly faced forward again, a blush creeping up his cheeks that Blaine suspected was more from embarrassment at his outburst than from anger at him. Blaine reached out tentatively, resting his hand lightly on Kurt's. He froze when Kurt flinched slightly, but kept his hand there, trusting that Kurt would shake it off if he didn't want it there. "Kurt." Blaine said the word slowly, more for himself than to get his boyfriend's attention, letting the syllable roll off his tongue and savoring the way it felt on his lips. "I shouldn't have ignored you tonight, and I shouldn't have gotten drunk, and I _certainly _shouldn't have tried to do that to you in the car, but most of all I wish I hadn't left. I'll never not regret it, and I'm sorry. I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere, so… I'll be waiting here if you forgive me, whenever that is."

Blaine leaned forward, around Kurt, trying to get a look at him, and to his amazement, Kurt obliged, turning to allow Blaine a full view of his face. "I _really _hate how much harder your silly, sentimental speeches make it for me to be mad at you," Kurt finally answered, his glare now the familiar one that was so purely _Kurt_ that it made Blaine smile.

Blaine's smile broadened and he couldn't help the nervous chuckle that escaped his lips. "I take it that means you're not mad?"

Kurt hummed his confirmation and leaned forward to nudge his nose gently against Blaine's before pulling back with a mischievous sparkling growing in his eyes. "Well, wouldn't you know it? We survived our first gay bar experience."

"First?" Blaine asked warily. "And hopefully our last for a while. We just barely made it."

"Are you sure? You don't want to get a taste of those fabulous dance moves of mine again?" Kurt asked, the corners of his mouth turning up into a grin.

Blaine cocked his head, pretending to contemplate it, and then pulled Kurt's head down to his for a proper kiss. "Maybe in my room, listening to Roxy music."

"Then it's a date."

* * *

><p><strong>I had been planning to make an attempt to diversify from the angst in the next chapter, but I already have an idea for it, so... so much for that happening. I've also been trying to come up with ideas not directly related to an episode, and to move the focus off of Blaine for a bit, but evidently I can't resist writing Blaine. So I hope that doesn't bug you, and feel free to leave a prompt if you'd like to see something different. I hope everyone had lovely holidays in the past couple weeks!<strong>


	4. Fighter

**We all heard the general reason in "Hold On to Sixteen" for why Blaine took up boxing. This chapter is my more detailed explanation. Sorry for typos and grammatical mistakes, I was in a hurry to get this up. Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Fighter<strong>

The first thing Blaine became aware of was a bright, hot-white light pressing against his closed eyelids, making explosions of color burst and dance in front of the should-be darkness, the power of the light so intense that it made Blaine want to squint against it even though his eyes were already shut. Then next thing he grew conscious of was the pain. The twinge in his arm, the throb of his headache, and the dull ache in his right side that sharpened into a shooting pain whenever he drew a breath. Almost immediately he wished he'd remained focused on the light show on the inside of his eyelids instead. It was too late for that, though, so he let his eyes flutter open, the sensation odd, as though he hadn't lifted them in a very long time, and then shut them instantly against the bright whiteness that filled every inch of his vision.

A voice filtered into Blaine's consciousness, first just an indistinguishable murmur, gradually morphing into distinct words, like tuning a radio until the static was low and infrequent. Blaine opened his mouth to try to speak, but his throat felt scratchy and raw. He swallowed ineffectually, and tried again, but all he heard was a hoarse moan in a voice he could hardly recognize as his own. Panic flooded Blaine as he wondered what was wrong with his voice and wondered frantically how he would be able to sing if he sounded like that.

The voice stopped for a moment, and then he heard more clearly his mother continuing, "I think he just woke up." There was a pause and then she added, "I should go see if he's alright," and Blaine realized that she was on the phone. A moment later she sighed and said, an almost imperceptible edge in her voice, "Paul, don't be too hard on him, he's in the hospital."

_So that's where I am_, Blaine realized, and then suddenly he remembered _everything_, and wished more than anything that he hadn't, that he could have stayed in that blissful white world of ignorance, because the unbearable weight bearing down on his mind now was infinitely worse than the physical pain. He could hear the jeering shouts and derogatory slurs all over again, could feel the bony knuckles and rough shoes of the Sadie Hawkins kids colliding with his flesh, could remember with terrible clarity the screams of his date to the dance, and then recall the panic he felt when those screams grew muffled and died out. He heard that one three-letter word pounding in his head, the word he'd heard his father and friends use his whole life, and then a cool hand against his sweaty forehead arrested his writhing movements, and Blaine stilled, wincing as his movements accentuated the pain in his arm and leg.

"Mummy?" he asked, biting his lip hard as he realized that in his distress he'd let slip that old childhood pet name he'd abandoned long ago.

"Don't move so much, they'll have to sedate you again, and I already told your father that you're up and he won't like it if he comes here for nothing."

Blaine opened his eyes and focused in on her face. She looked more tired than he'd ever seen her, her usually neat blonde hair pulled back into a hurried ponytail and her eyes worn, the bags under them barely concealed with makeup. Despite the brusque nature of her words, her hand remained on his head and her eyes were warm and concerned. "What happened?" he asked.

"Your arm is broken and the boys cracked one of your ribs. You're mostly bruised - you'll be fine."

"And Sean?" Blaine asked, holding his breath and hoping with everything he had that his date hadn't fared worse.

His mother sighed wearily and answered, "I don't know. His parents think you were a bad influence - that this wouldn't have happened if you hadn't… corrupted him -" she gave Blaine an apologetic look before continuing, "- and they're transferring him to another school as soon as they can, so they don't want the two of you to have any contact."

A deep, gruff voice spoke up from the doorway, and Blaine jumped slightly, his gaze flickering up to his father, who'd entered unnoticed. "They're right to do it," his father was saying. "I should have done the same. Kept you away from whoever turned you gay."

Blaine's eyes narrowed and he couldn't keep himself from arguing even though he knew it was futile, knew that they'd had this conversation many times over and the argument was a well-rehearsed dialogue that never changed. "Do you think this is something I chose, Dad? Do you think I _enjoy _being here, that I _want _people to beat me up because of who I am?"

Blaine's father sighed and sat down in one of the cheap plastic chairs by Blaine's bed, and Blaine anticipated his scorn, but this time, he changed the script. "You don't have to accept that, Blaine."

Blaine frowned and narrowed his eyes skeptically, wishing that he wasn't lying under starched white hospital sheets because it put him at a clear disadvantage. "_Right_," he scoffed. "I've heard that before. 'You don't have to be gay, you can get help,'" he mimicked. "Sorry, Dad, you'll just have to stick with the kid you got."

Blaine's father reached out and placed his hand gingerly on Blaine's knee, watching Blaine's face carefully as if he did so to gauge whether the motion disturbed any of his injuries. Blaine held still, surprised by the unusually explicit show of affection.

"I don't mean that this time," his father said slowly. "If you're going to insist on going through this… _phase_, then what kind of father would I be if I didn't teach you to defend yourself?"

Blaine looked on warily. "Defense?"

"I can't let people beat up on my son. And any man should know how to throw a solid punch."

"You want me to _fight_ them?" Blaine tried to cross his arms, and then winced and held still as pain shot down the length of his broken arm. "No. Brawling with them only makes me as low as they are."

"Boxing," Blaine's father said, leaning forward with more enthusiasm than Blaine could recall seeing from him since he'd come out, "boxing is not brawling. Boxing is an art."

Blaine hesitated. He knew better than to think that this was anything other than an another attempt to reform him into a "proper" man, just like building the car had been, but the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to spend the time with his dad, and the more he remembered those hours in the garage when they'd actually _talked_, the way and father and son should. He smiled guardedly, and nodded carefully. "Okay," he agreed. "Fine. I'll try it."

A genuine smile spread around the deep lines of his father's face, and Blaine's dad patted his leg as he said, "That's my boy," in a pleased tone Blaine had thought he'd never get to hear again.

* * *

><p>Two months later, when Blaine's arm was finally out of his cast and he no longer dreamed every night of being ambushed outside the doors to Sadie Hawkins middle school, he stood alone in front of the mirror in his room, scowling. "This is stupid," he told his reflection sullenly as he wrapped the boxing tape around his hand the way his dad had showed him. "I should never have agreed to this."<p>

"Blaine?" his father's voice called from behind the door. "You ready?"

"Coming," Blaine called back, tugging on the red gloves and wriggling his fingers awkwardly inside them. He followed his father into the cellar and stared apprehensively at the heavy punching bag hanging suspended from the ceiling.

Blaine's father saw his hesitance and nodded his head towards the bag. "Go on, don't be shy."

"But I don't know how."

Blaine hated how nervous and unsure his own voice sounded, and he was sure his dad would mutter something like "fairy" and walk off, but he only nodded again and said, "Just hit it. It doesn't have to be pretty. Just go all out."

Blaine stepped cautiously forward and tried to ignore his father's presence, to focus on the cracking leather covering of the bag. He closed his eyes for a moment and dredged up all the memories of the dance he'd been trying to repress since that night, and when he relived Sean's screams, Blaine lunged forward, his periphery a blur as all his senses zeroed in on the punching bag in front of him.

The crack of his glove against leather rang out in the stillness of his basement, and the way the shock of the impact traveled all the way up his arm was almost pleasant. As Blaine drew back, he realized with a mixture of ferocity and amazement that all he really wanted to do was hit it _again_ - so he did, over and over, his fist colliding with the punching bag, siphoning off all the rage and humiliation and pain he'd felt on the night of the dance and channeling it into that single, repeated striking motion against the bag.

"Easy, son," came a low chuckle behind him, and Blaine felt his father's hands on his shoulders, steadying him.

Blaine turned around, surprised at how out of breath he already was, and raised his arm to wipe off the sweat that had already begun to bead on his forehead.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Paul Anderson asked, and Blaine looked up to see something very close to pride written across his father's face.

"Yeah," Blaine breathed. There was a second of awkward silence - neither father nor son knowing how to fill this rare moment of amicability - and then Blaine returned his dad's grin and asked, eagerness creeping into his voice, "Can we do it again?"

* * *

><p>A year later, Blaine stood awkwardly in the center of the living room, shuffling his feet self-consciously as he felt the eyes of his parents on him. "What is it, Blaine?" his father asked, his voice only mildly impatient. "You were the one who said you needed to talk to us - so talk. I have work to do."<p>

The quick glance Paul threw towards his office door was not lost on Blaine and he took a deep breath, hurrying along even though all he really wanted to do was stall for more time. "Well," Blaine mumbled, "you know I'm gay…" he trailed off, not sure how to proceed.

"We know, Blaine, you came out a while ago," his father said sharply. "Is that really the only reason you've made this big production, because-"

"I have a boyfriend now," Blaine blurted quickly before he could change him mind, his voice creeping up an octave.

Blaine's father closed his eyes for a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose before inhaling deeply and saying patiently, "Now really isn't the time for this, I have a case to work on-"

Blaine interrupted again, the words spilling out almost unbidden, "Now has to be the time because I planned on him coming over tonight and I - _we _- were hoping you could meet him?" His resolve wavered as he spoke, and by the end of the sentence Blaine was turning what was meant to be a firm, sure statement into an uncertain request.

"You want to bring a _boy _home with you?" Mr. Anderson asked incredulously.

"Yes," Blaine whispered, unable to meet his father's eyes.

"What's his name?"

Blaine looked up, his heart racing, bordering on hope. "Kurt."

Mr. Anderson nodded slowly and looked at Blaine thoughtfully before saying quietly, "Go tell Kurt that he should stay at home. He can't be here."

"But Dad-"

"Don't argue." Paul's voice was calm but it held a warning of danger. "You can do what you like, but not here. We've been very understanding, you know that, but you can't expect me to let you two… under this roof…" Mr. Anderson trailed off, waving his hands vaguely in the air to somehow communicate what he couldn't bring himself to say.

"What do you think we were going to _do_?" Blaine exploded. "He just wanted to meet you, it's no different than if I brought a girl home! You wouldn't have a problem with _that_, would you?" Blaine challenged.

"No, because bring home a girl is _normal_. But I can't have you and this Kurt _fraternizing_ here, imagine what the neighbors would think."

Blaine spun around, his hands reaching up to grip at his curls of hair in frustration. "It's not fraternizing! There's _no difference_," he snapped. "Why can't you get that? Guess law school didn't teach you that!" he called out, halfway up the stairs. He slammed his bedroom door shut, and growled under his breath when he found that doing so gave him no pleasure.

Blaine yanked open a drawer in his room and snatched up his boxing gloves, shoving his hands into them roughly and flexing them, the leather stiff after a couple months of disuse - Blaine hadn't needed to box since he'd met Kurt. He stalked downstairs and was on his way into the basement when his father's voice stopped him on the stairs.

"Where are you going? Are you leaving to see this boyfriend," - Paul seem to struggle to say the word - "of yours?"

"No," Blaine snarled, holding up the gloves so that his father could see him. "I'm going to go box, just like you taught me to do. Happy?" Blaine headed on into the basement without waiting for or expecting an answer. For a moment he wondered if his father was going to bother to follow him down and scold him for storming off, but a then he heard the soft click of the office door shutting upstairs and Blaine bit down hard on his lip and tore into the punching bag with his fists until his mind was filled with the smell of sweat and leather and the musty stuffing of the bag, pushing out all other thoughts.

* * *

><p>Blaine watched Finn's back retreating from the locker-room, and looked down at his hands which were trembling partly from rage and partly from the force of effort he'd put into pummeling the punching bag that was still slowly swaying back and forth. He started to turn away to go, but abruptly spun back and threw a final vicious punch at the bag, grunting though clenched teeth with the exertion. He hated that Finn had the nerve to lecture him on teamwork and the need for cooperation - as if <em>Finn<em> hadn't been the one who'd refused to work together when all Blaine wanted was to get along - and he was furious that he'd let Finn get away with turning himself into the good guy who made peace. But it was _Kurt's _brother, and if letting it go meant spending another half hour boxing later that night and avoiding antagonizing Kurt's family, then Blaine would do it gladly.

He yanked off his sweatshirt and shoved it into his bag, and then stripped his white undershirt off roughly over his head, deliberately letting his nails dig into his back as he did so, glad for the slight pain. He stepped into the shower, adjusting the control until it was as hot as he could bear and letting the steaming water trickle out of his damp curls into his eyes and stream down his chest in thick rivulets, ignoring Kurt's voice in the back of his mind telling him that the heat would damage his skin.

By the time Blaine had dressed in his normal school clothes and applied gel liberally enough to his hair that nobody would know it'd been wet in the first place, he knew Glee club would be over, so he headed to Kurt's locker instead of the choir room. Sure enough, Kurt was waiting there, leaning against his locker with his hands in his tight pockets and his head tipped to the side, his lips broadening into a smile as he caught sight of Blaine.

"Hey," Kurt said casually when Blaine got closer. "You ready to go?"

"Yeah," Blaine nodded, not quite meeting Kurt's eyes, knowing that there was going to be some kind of interrogation and wondering when it would start.

The interrogation didn't come. They were relatively silent on the way home, Kurt sliding a Pink CD into the radio in the car and smiling slightly in Blaine's direction as he flipped to the "Perfect" track and began softly humming along to it. Eventually Blaine gave up casting Kurt wary glances and loosened his tense muscles, relaxing back into the seat and closing his eyes, feeling increasingly foolish as he replayed in his mind the terrible things he'd said to Sam and his childish, irrational outburst.

"You're blushing," Kurt remarked suddenly.

"Keep your eyes on the road," Blaine said, his eyes still closed.

"I don't have to, we're here," Kurt answered pertly. "So I can do this."

Blaine heard the click of a seatbelt unbuckling, and then felt a presence hovering over him as Kurt leaned over to brush his lips lightly against Blaine's cheek and then his lips.

Blaine responded enthusiastically, but Kurt's lips disappeared as quickly as they'd come, and Blaine opened his eyes to find himself in Kurt's driveway and see Kurt slipping out the CD and cutting the engine. "Are you coming? I'll help you study for your French test, and I know you'll love that."

"_Je t'aime_," Blaine murmured, getting out of the car and coming around to open Kurt's door. "See? I know a little French."

"You're a sap," Kurt chuckled, pecking Blaine lightly on the cheek. "Everyone knows how to say 'I love you' in French."

"Doesn't change the fact that it's true," Blaine whispered in Kurt's ear, snaking his arm around Kurt's waist as they headed up the stairs to the bedroom.

Fifteen minutes later they were lying side by side on the bed on their stomachs with their feet up in the air, occasionally brushing against each other's as Kurt flipped though a stack of color coded flash cards, reading the words aloud to Blaine.

"Ooh, this is a good one!" Kurt said. "_J'aime ton chemise._"

Blaine chuckled. "You _would_ like that. 'I like your shirt.' Next?"

"_Ce sont bien trop soignée._"

"These are… far too neat?" Blaine hesitated in the middle of the translation, and ended it like a question. "That's not on a flash card."

"I know." Kurt held up the index card in his hand and pointed it at Blaine. "Your meticulousness is ridiculous. You'll be fine on the test, you already know it all." Kurt tossed the flash cards to the side and smiled at Blaine, nudging him playfully in the side.

"Okay, we can finish later," Blaine agreed, both boys shifting onto their sides so they were facing each other, propping their heads against their hands and their elbows on the bed.

Kurt raised his free hand and pressed it lightly against the center of Blaine's chest just below the dip of his collarbone, trailing it down the length of Blaine's torso and then lifting and coming to rest on his bicep. "You've been gaining some muscle," he remarked in a tone that Blaine could hear was very carefully constructed to be casual.

Blaine looked down over his own body and shrugged. "I guess." It was true - since he transferred to McKinley and started boxing again he'd bulked up a bit and he was slightly proud of it. But Kurt's eyes were calculating, so Blaine only stared back guardedly and waited.

"Working out?"

"Yeah," Blaine admitted. "McKinley has a better gym than I expected."

"Anything in particular?" Kurt continued quizzing, and Blaine groaned and flopped onto his back on the bed, figuring that Kurt must have heard something that would bring on this round of questions.

"Finn really can't keep his mouth shut, can he? What did he say to you?" he sighed, resigned.

"That you were boxing. He actually seemed quite impressed. How'd you somehow leave out telling me the piece of Dalton's history that involves you starting a Fight Club?"

"It never came up." Blaine said, and even he could hear how defensive his own voice sounded in comparison to Kurt's gentle chiding.

"Your love of Harry Potter also never come up, but I know all about that," Kurt pointed out, nudging his nose against Blaine's shoulder lightly. "Is the boxing a secret?"

"No," Blaine couldn't help but chuckle. "It was another of my dad's 'guy activities,' just like the car." He hesitated when Kurt seemed unconvinced before adding, "He thought I needed to learn self defense after I got out of the hospital."

Kurt's eyes narrowed and he repeated severely, "The hospital."

Blaine sighed heavily. "Remember the Sadie-Hawkins dance I told you about?" Taking Kurt's silence as a confirmation, he continued, "They broke of my some bones and the doctors thought I might have a concussion. It was only a couple nights," he added quickly, seeing the expression of indignation on Kurt's face and hurriedly toning it down, smiling brightly to prove that it was no big deal.

Kurt sprang from the bed and began pacing, the soft pad of his feet on the floor rapid and impatient. Blaine sat up and followed Kurt's agitated movements with his eyes, knowing to wait it out. "You needed _boxing_ to keep yourself _safe_?" Kurt finally asked, pausing and turning to face Blaine, his eyes on fire.

"I never had to use it!" Blaine protested. "It was just a good outlet, and it turned out I actually liked it! It was all a good thing."

Kurt, who had resumed his pacing, halted abruptly again and placed his hands on his hips firmly, his eyebrows raised. "A _good thing_. Has anyone ever told you that you downplay things way too much?"

Blaine smirked. "Has anyone told you that _you_ have a protective streak a mile wide? It was three years ago. I'm over it."

"Fine." Kurt sat down on the bed again and was reaching for the flashcards when he froze, looking back at Blaine with that calculating, narrow-eyed gaze again. "But why'd you start boxing again? It wasn't just today - I've been noticing that you've been getting more fit since you transferred. Is it Karofsky's side kicks? Or those hockey players? I can get Finn or Sam to do something about it, they stuck up for me-"

"No, that's fine," Blaine said quickly.

"Are you sure? I know you have this pride thing, but they really wouldn't mind-"

"It's not pride," Blaine said shortly. Kurt seemed to draw back even though he didn't move, and Blaine regretted his words and his tone instantly. "Finn was the problem the whole time," he explained. "I was so sick of him attacking me for everything I said. And then today, with Sam up in my face, it reminded me of Sadie Hawkins." Blaine saw the expression of horror cross Kurt's face and he quickly amended, "I know Sam wasn't going to do anything, but first he suggested that it's okay to sell yourself - as if people don't already accuse gays of that often enough - and then he shoved me, and it was just a reflex."

"I wish my brother could just get along with you."

"I think we do, now. He really is sorry."

Kurt was quiet, his face contemplative.

"I love boxing," Blaine said earnestly. "And now I can share it with you. It's all been for the better."

Just when Blaine was beginning to worry about Kurt's continuing silence, Kurt looked up and reached for Blaine, sliding his hands up the back of Blaine's head, a wicked grin spreading across his lips. "I never thought my type would be a boxer," Kurt whispered, his breath blowing, warm and sweet, into Blaine's face, "but I think you're changing my mind."

"I am?" Blaine asked, taken aback both by Kurt's words and his suddenly close proximity.

"Mhmm," Kurt hummed, kissing Blaine and then resting his forehead on Blaine's. "It has its advantages," he whispered, his hand trailing over Blaine's biceps again to emphasize his point.

Blaine laughed, but drew away. "I still have to study, remember? French?"

Kurt sighed impatiently and pushed the flash cards further away. "We don't need those to study. French can be a very romantic language," he grinned. "_Et je sais que vous ne pouvez pas résister à la romance._"

"Who's being the sap now?" Blaine teased, lying back down on the bed next to Kurt, their hands intertwined and his eyes closed blissfully, for once perfectly at peace.

* * *

><p><strong>The French at the very end translates to: "And I know you can't resist romance." Special credit goes to my friend Jenn, who helped me out with the French when my online translator proved not to be very useful. My apologies to people who actually know French and cringed at the mistakes I'm sure I made.<strong>

**I'm not quite satisfied with how this chapter turned out (I think it got worse as the chapter progressed), but it wasn't getting any better anytime soon, and I needed to get it done so I could move on. Hopefully you all will be more pleased with it than I am.**

**Feel free to check out the poll on my profile. Review, pretty please?**


	5. Once a Warbler

**I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to update this! *hides from angry readers* Anyway, you've got a very persistent redhead friend of mine to thank for this chapter. It's a filler that spans the _Michael_ episode, which, though totally awesome, left out a lot of scenes with Blaine that I wish had happened. Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Once a Warbler<strong>

Blaine watched Kurt pacing furiously around the small room and bit his lip, wishing that he could go over to him and wrap his arms around Kurt and whisper softly in his ear until the tension drained out of his boyfriend's back and the cold glare in eyes softened. Instead, Blaine could only shift on the lumpy, hard hospital pillow underneath him and repeat gently, "Kurt, it's okay. Calm down."

Kurt whirled around, fists clenched at his sides, and hissed between his teeth, "I _am _calm. You have _no _idea just how calm I have to be to sit here and do nothing."

Blaine looked doubtfully at the IV in his hand and then up to Kurt, who was standing on the opposite side of his room. "Don't make me get up and come over there," Blaine threatened, smiling, but stopping quickly and wincing when he realized that crinkling his eye like that hurt.

In an instant, the chilly stillness in Kurt's face had vanished and he was next to Blaine's bed, his face full of concern. "What is it? Do I need to call the nurse for more painkillers?"

Blaine reached out and stroked the top of Kurt's hand lightly. "I'm fine, I told you. It's just my eye. I've had worse." Blaine caught the expression that flitted across Kurt's face, and frowned, realizing that that had been the wrong thing to say as they both thought of Sadie Hawkins. "You're not very good at hospitals," he teased. "What are you going to do the first time our kid breaks a bone or needs stitches? Are you going to be this much of a mess?"

Kurt smiled weakly and nodded. "I can't stand to see you in pain when it should be me on that bed and you holding my hand."

Blaine ignored what Kurt had really been saying and lifted his hand, still intertwined with Kurt's, pointing out, "I'm still the one holding your hand. And I don't have to be the only one on the bed." Blaine grinned mischievously, this time not caring about how the gesture made his injured eye prickle uncomfortably, and slid back, making room for Kurt to lie down on the edge of the bed.

When Kurt was settled next to him, Blaine smiled and took both of Kurt's hands in one of his own. "You're wrong, you know."

Kurt looked up, clearly confused, and Blaine elaborated, "Our roles shouldn't be reversed. I didn't have to jump in front of the slushie, I knew what I was doing. You didn't force me to." When Kurt only blinked up at him, unconvinced, Blaine sighed and added, "Besides, you told me I wasn't really a member of the New Directions until I'd been slushied. There's a first time for everything, right?"

Kurt sat up from the bed and crossed his arms in an all too familiar, irritated stance. "Don't you dare make light of this. It's my fault, the slushie was supposed to be for me." Blaine opened his mouth to protest again, but Kurt snapped, "If you say it's 'just your eye' again, so help me, Blaine-"

"You would threaten a poor one-eyed cripple like me?" Blaine challenged before Kurt could finish. He watched Kurt flounder for an acceptable answer and then nodded approvingly, "That's what I thought. Now, you are going to go to the cafeteria and eat some disgusting hospital food while you calm down, and when you come back, you're not going to feel guilty. Got it?"

Kurt leaned forward quickly to snatch a kiss, and then darted away to do as he'd been bidden, leaving Blaine to lie back against the sheets and growl under his breath as the fury that had been bubbling in his chest rose and flared now that he didn't need to smother it for Kurt's sake. Blaine tipped his head back against his pillow and closed both his eyes, squeezing them shut, losing the pain in the far more unbearable feeling of betrayal ripping through him.

* * *

><p>Kurt was returning to Blaine's room, counting the room numbers along the white-walled, sterile corridor, when he heard faint shouts that he recognized instantly, and broke into a run as he moved towards Blaine's voice.<p>

"Don't give me that excuse!" Blaine was yelling, the words becoming more distinct as Kurt drew nearer. "I don't care whether or not you knew Smythe tampered with the slushie!"

There was a pause filled by some inaudible murmuring, and Kurt drew near enough to see that Blaine was sitting upright, his face and neck flushed, glaring at Nick, who was standing across from Blaine with his hands half-raised as if he was being held at gunpoint.

Whatever Nick had said made Blaine swing his legs over the edge of the bed and stand up, the cords standing out in his neck visible even at Kurt's distance. A moment later, Blaine was screaming even more loudly, "Do you think it makes me feel _better_ to know that you were aiming for Kurt? Does that make it right? I thought Kurt and I were Warblers!"

"_You _left Dalton, Blaine," Nick said quietly. "Nobody asked you to go."

"You don't get it," Blaine sighed in defeat, shoulders sagging as the fight left him all at once. "We used to be a family."

Nick frowned, appearing regretful. "I didn't think- It was supposed to be a joke. Sebastian said it would be funny. We didn't think anybody would actually get hurt, and I really am sorry about your eye."

Blaine slumped down onto the bed. "You didn't think throwing an old abusive insult into my boyfriend's face would hurt any…" Blaine trailed off and gave up, shutting his eyes. "Just… go, okay?" Nick tried to say something, but Blaine shook his head. "I don't want to hear it. Please. I'm tired, and my head hurts, and I want you to go away. _Please_."

Kurt stepped forward, finally making his presence known. "Go, Nick," he suggested in a steely voice.

Nick jumped and glanced nervously at Kurt. "Sorry," he stammered awkwardly, backing out of the room. "I'll leave you two alone."

Once Nick was gone, Kurt turned to Blaine and frowned in consternation as he saw Blaine looking even more helpless than when he'd been curled in a screaming ball on the ground just hours earlier. His arm was thrown over his face and the part of it that was visible was tight and pained.

"Sorry," Blaine muttered into his arm.

"What on earth do you think you're sorry for?" Kurt asked, sitting down on the side of the bed and rubbing Blaine's arm.

"I was supposed to hold my temper."

Kurt leaned down and kissed Blaine's jaw, the only part of him that was accessible. "You can't hide from me," Kurt teased lightly, tugging gently at Blaine's arm. When it didn't budge, Kurt smiled and laid down, reaching up to curve his arm around Blaine's shoulders. "Everything will be fine," Kurt assured him more seriously.

"Nice try," Blaine snorted, his voice hard. "Do things look fine to you?"

"They will be," Kurt whispered, a vow in his voice. Blaine didn't argue this time, and Kurt repeated the words softly into Blaine's ear until Blaine's tight muscles loosened under the veil of sleep and the worry and tension in his face smoothed out.

* * *

><p>Blaine rubbed a towel vigorously through his damp hair and peered into the mirror, which was still misted over with the steam from his shower. Blaine frowned at his reflection, glaring at the curls that got only more fluffy and wild the more he ran the towel through them. He was just trying again when the doorbell rang loudly, and he jumped, yanking on a threadbare white cotton t-shirt and a pair of plaid pajamas and thumping down the stairs to the front door.<p>

Blaine yanked it open in a hurry, not bother to look at who was outside, and froze when he revealed Santana standing in front of him, her hand raised to press the doorbell again. Santana looked at him, words ready on her lips, but they died there as she gaped at him. After a long pause, she collected herself and said, staring at a point just above Blaine, "I think I finally see why you need all the hair gel. Is this what happens when you go natural, Hobbit?"

"I just got out of the shower," Blaine protested, thoroughly bewildered at her unexpected appearance.

"So I see," Santana smirked, her eyes raking over his partly soaked shirt. Abruptly she said impatiently, "Well? Aren't you going to invite me in? They couldn't even teach you manners at that prep school of yours?"

Stepping aside to let Santana in, Blaine laughed from deep in his throat and gestured at his covered eye. "I guess etiquette wasn't really Dalton's strong suit," he agreed.

When Santana didn't so much as snicker in response, Blaine looked up and saw her looking at him carefully. "That probably wasn't the most tasteful insult I could have chosen," she said by way of apology.

"Don't worry about it," Blaine assured her, leading the way into the living room. He was relieved when Santana returned his smile, and he took a seat across from her on a leather couch. "So why are you here? Checking up on me for Kurt?"

Santana laughed and shook her head. "No, and I don't come bearing serenades or anything else Rachel and Finn would do, so don't get your hopes up," she warned sharply. "But I do have a present for you.

At this, Santana plunged her hand into the low neckline of the tight black dress she wore, and Blaine's eyes widened. "I don't… um… want that kind of present, Santana," he reminded her awkwardly.

"Don't be ridiculous," she scolded, rolling her eyes. "I've got something better than that." Seeing the mortified expression on Blaine's face, she snapped, "Oh, grow up Anderson, it's not the first time you've seen a girl. Here we go." She withdrew her hand, holding in it a small black cassette tape.

"What _is _that?" Blaine asked.

"You know," Santana said, "I'd feel much better helping someone who's not a complete idiot." Blaine raised his eyebrows, and she continued, "But since that's clearly not the case here, I'll tell you - it's evidence. Evidence about Smythe."

"Sebastian admitted to putting something in the slushie?"

"Yes," Santana breathed, leaning closer in excitement. "And I got all of it on tape."

Meanwhile, Blaine's gaze drifted downwards and fixated on the neckline of Santana's dress.

"Blaine!" she snapped, yanking his chin up. "What are you looking at? You're _gay_, remember?"

"Now who's being ridiculous?" Blaine challenged, looking back down again and fingering the edge of the black fabric she wore. "I'm looking at what I think is a _slushie_ stain on your clothes."

"Oh, yeah, they seem to have a lot of those on hand lately at Dalton. But that's not the point. Focus! I have his confession on record!"

But Blaine had sprung out of his seat and was glaring, looking around the room wildly. "I _swear_, if I could just… How _dare_ he?"

Santana rose, too, and grabbed his wrists, holding his gesticulating hands still with surprising force. "Shut up and sit down. I'm not a pampered prep school kid, I can take a slushie to the face, and they didn't put anything in this -" Santana stopped short at the expression on Blaine's face. "What?"

"_They?_ They were all in on it, again? So much for Nick's apology. I can't believe I actually believed he meant -"

"Blaine," Santana said, an edge of impatience creeping into her voice. "You can get revenge for all that now. And take it from someone who knows, being on the receiving end of revenge tastes a lot worse than artificial cherry flavoring. Now come on, I figured you'd want to be the one to turn it in." Santana gave him the cassette, but frowned when he shook his head, swallowed, and pushed it back into her hands.

"I can't do that," Blaine said, still shaking his head. "They're still my friends. I'm not handing it in. You can do it, or Kurt, even Mr. Schue. Just leave me out of it."

Santana paused, but finally accepted the cassette. "You suck at revenge, Anderson," she complained.

"I know."

"I don't even know why I bother to be friends with someone as disgustingly _decent_ as you are."

"Beats me."

She cast Blaine a sideways glance and her gaze softened at the lost look in Blaine's eyes. "But since I do bother, want to watch a movie?"

Blaine brightened considerably, and asked with child-like eagerness, "Can it be Disney?"

"Sure," Santana said in a tone that, for her, was bordering on indulgent. A moment later she added, more sharply, "But I'm not watching _The Little Mermaid_ with you again."

"Deal," Blaine grinned.

"Deal." Santana handed Blaine the remote and then settled cozily next to him, tucking her feet up underneath herself on the couch and leaning into Blaine as the opening credits rolled.

* * *

><p>Blaine tried to open his eyes against the thick darkness pressing against them, but stopped when the effort became painful. Instead, he settled for murmuring vaguely, "Where am I?"<p>

"You're in the hospital, Blaine, you're waking up from surgery," a familiar voice told him, and then Blaine felt his hand being enfolded in Kurt's slim, cool one. Another hand touched his arm lightly, and he sensed a body bending over him. When long, soft hair tumbled into his face, Blaine frowned. It smelled sweet, like flowers. That wasn't right.

"Kurt…" he slurred, unable to hold his thoughts together.

"What is it? I'm right here."

A light squeeze on his palm made Blaine able to focus enough to ask blearily, "When did your hair get so long? And how come it smells sooo good?"

There was a low chuckled that was not Kurt's, and then a female voice, full of suppressed laughter that Blaine recognized as Santana's, answered, "I'm here, too, Blaine. And I didn't know you liked the scent of my shampoo so much. Maybe I'll get you some for your hobbit hair."

That was familiar. "'M not a hobbit," Blaine mumbled reflexively. "'M Harry Potter. I'm gonna have a scar on my face just like him from my surgery."

The hand that was Santana's disappeared and a moment later Blaine heard her whispering in a muffled voice, "Did they do something to his brain during surgery?"

"My brain's fine!" Blaine protested, indignant.

"It takes a while to come out of the anesthesia," he heard Kurt explaining. "And Blaine, you're not going to have a scar, the surgery was on your eye and it went well."

"But Harry Potter has one," Blaine said, trying and believing that he'd succeeded in keeping the pout out of his voice.

"That's okay. You'll get to have an eye-patch like a pirate for a few more weeks, if that's any consolation."

"Pirates are hot," Santana chipped in.

"Santana!"

"It's true," she said to Kurt unapologetically. "Right, Blaine?"

"You're always right."

There was a hoot of derisive laughter, and the sound of someone, probably Kurt, smacking what was probably Santana. "Hey! He's the one who said it!"

Something approached Blaine's face, and then Santana was whispering against the shell of his ear, "I knew I could count on you, Anderson."

Blaine giggled, the sound of it surprising even himself, and he protested, "That tickles!"

"You better appreciate how much effort it's taking not to take advantage of that."

Blaine laughed harder and finally opened his good eye to find Santana standing close on one side of the bed and Kurt sitting on the other side of it, both leaning over him and smiling with unequivocal love in their faces. As clarity suddenly came to his anesthetized mind, Blaine realized that the family of blazer-clad singers he'd lost had been replaced by these wildly different yet infinitely more loyal friends. This wasn't like the last time he'd had surgery at all. Instead of coming to his senses in an empty room filled only by the steady beeping of a heart monitor, he was awakening to the loving presence of his two best friends, and that was enough.

* * *

><p><strong>I know the ending was a little rough, but I wanted to get this chapter up today and I was in a hurry. I hope my portrayal of Santana was okay, I've never written her before and I'm not sure I got it right. Review, pretty pretty please?<strong>


	6. Not Right

**This chapter is Blaine's point of view during the episode _Dance With_ _Somebody_, with extra scenes of my own creation added in. I realize that there are already numerous reaction-fics to _Dance With Somebody_, and that this is, as usual for me, really late for a reaction-fic. But I needed to write this for myself, and after I got it done, I figured I might as well post it here, since that was why I started this fic in the first place. Besides, you guys seemed to have positive feedback on my other reaction-fic chapter.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Not Right<strong>

Blaine tossed his notebooks aside, threw down his pen with satisfaction, and looked over at Kurt, who was seated cross-legged on the bed with his phone in his hand. "I'm done with my homework. Ready for our movie night?"

Kurt's eyebrows furrowed slightly in concentration and he held up a finger as his mouth silently spelled out the words his free thumb typed onto the tiny touch screen of his phone. Kurt looked up as he finished with a vague smile and said, "Let's do it! Are you hungry? I can get us something from the kitchen, I think Finn left some fruit and cheese behind."

Blaine crossed the room and knelt on the bed, about to reach for Kurt's hand and say that he'd love that, when the phone lying on the bed buzzed and Kurt's hand flashed out of reach as Kurt looked at the screen and grinned to himself at whatever was on it, his lips pressing together and turning up. "Okay," Kurt said, tearing his eyes away and looking distractedly back up at Blaine. "I'll be right back."

He disappeared down the stairs and Blaine heard a refrigerator door open in the kitchen below. At the same time, the screen of Kurt's phone lit up. Blaine ignored it and picked up the television remote from the bedside table, turning on the DVD player and getting the movie ready. When he returned to sit on the edge of the bed and wait, the phone buzzed yet again with an incoming text message.

Blaine frowned and cocked his head to listen downstairs… Kurt could still be heard in the kitchen. Who would need to contact Kurt that badly? He remembered Kurt's small, secretive smile in the choir room earlier that day as he checked his phone and for some inexplicable reason, this troubled Blaine. The phone, as if reading Blaine's thoughts, vibrated another time, and now he leaned over to read the ID showing up against the backlit screen. "Chandler," he read, and his brow furrowed at the unfamiliar name.

Without really thinking about it, Blaine's finger reached out, almost unbidden, and pressed the little "Open" button. One text after another, the conversation stretched on and on, over the entire day and into yesterday, Kurt answering each obviously seductive message from Chandler with something equally unashamedly flirty.

As Blaine scanned through the dozens of texts, he felt the nagging, troublesome insecurity that had been there all day bubbling up inside him, leaving an unsettling swirling sensation in the pit of his stomach and squeezing in on his chest and around his throat. He tried to shake it off, wondering when he'd become so _paranoid._ They were just texts. So why did they feel so wrong? The phone was still in his hand and Blaine was still wrestling with this when Kurt's voice broke into Blaine's thoughts, "Hey, I got the cheese plate… our _Being Bobby Brown _marathon can officially begin."

Blaine looked up, fully intending to brush the worrisome feeling aside and say something about the movie, but what came out instead was, "Who's Chandler?"

The moment he met his boyfriend's gaze and saw the defensiveness settle there, Blaine knew that something was wrong, from the tightening of Kurt's eyes and the stiffening of his mouth. "Why are you going through my phone?" Kurt's voice was eerily flat and measured.

"I'm not going through your phone," Blaine said quietly, looking back down quickly at the phone in his hands because suddenly looking directly at Kurt made him feel bare and exposed. "It's just that it keeps buzzing." He blinked down at the green and blue blurbs of text, the state of numb disbelief he'd been in fading too quickly and leaving behind an uncomfortable stirring in his chest. "Because _Chandler_ won't stop texting you," Blaine heard himself continuing. "'When we go to New York, let's go to the front of the Plaza and reenact the end of _The Way We Were_,'" he read off the phone, rising from the bed and moving away as Kurt reached out for the phone and commanded tonelessly, "Give me that."

"Can you sing into my voicemail, I want to make your voice my _ringtone?_" Blaine kept reading incredulously, backing up against the wall as Kurt circled him, the words seeming even worse when he was reading them out loud and when Kurt was being so desperate to hide them instead of assuring Blaine that it was nothing.

"Give me my phone," Kurt demanded more persistently, his voice hardening.

"There are literally dozens of texts between the two of you," Blaine said, pulling further away. "You know how many times you've texted me in the past two days? Four. And three of them were about finding peach-colored shoe polish."

"Why are you getting so upset?" Kurt asked almost angrily, holding his hands out as if that would just push the problem away. "This is all innocent."

"This is _cheating_, Kurt," Blaine said, and as soon as the words were out, he wished he'd kept them trapped under that pressure bearing down on his chest, because letting them escape into the air like that made them awful and real and _true_, and suddenly the backs of his eyes were prickling uncomfortably, and _no_, because this wasn't what he _did_. He didn't lose it because of something stupid like this. What he did was pummel a punching bag until everything disappeared into a cloud of sweat and rage and ferocity.

Kurt was saying something, giving some sort of defensive dismissal, and Blaine caught the last few words of his sentence, "You used to text Sebastian all the time, you would _call_ him, even."

"But I didn't like him!" Blaine protested, unable to believe that _he _was the one having to defend himself, and about _this _again. "And all of those texts were… family friendly."

"You like this guy," Blaine said, holding up the phone. The words were meant to come out sounding strong and stern and angry, but his throat tightened without his volition and his voice trembled and caught and ended up just sounding pathetic and hurt.

Kurt looked away, obviously trying not to roll his eyes, and _didn't deny it_. "I like the way he makes me feel," he said, as if that justified all of it. "I mean, when was the last time you complemented me, or told me how special I was?"

"I transferred _schools_ to be with you!" Blaine said, raising his hands helplessly and remembering bitterly how only months ago Kurt had breathlessly insisted that transferring for him would just lead to resentment. "I… I changed my whole life!" He laughed hollowly, choking on his own breath. "That doesn't make you feel loved?"

And now there were definitely tears in his eyes, but Blaine couldn't bring himself to care, because Kurt was continuing, "You don't know what it's like being _your_ boyfriend, okay?" Blaine could only freeze in place and stare speechlessly, because Kurt had never before said anything to make Blaine think that he was a problem, something to be tolerated and dealt with. This was what Kurt really thought of him. Underneath it all, when he was angry enough to be honest, Kurt thought of Blaine as a burden. And it was no wonder. He was the anchor weighing Kurt down, holding him back, the single lasting complication that was tethering all of Kurt's big New York dreams to stupid Lima, Ohio.

The rest of what Kurt said was lost to Blaine as he fought the tightening in his chest and pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek in an effort to choke back the sob rising in his throat and force his twisted mouth back into a normal shape. "Then talk to me," he begged. "_Tell _me that you're unhappy. But don't" - Blaine forced himself to say the words - "_cheat on me_."

"I feel like I have taken _crazy pills_," Kurt snapped, and Blaine tried not to flinch away, because Kurt was _yelling _at him, and his trust in Kurt had been the only absolute thing he'd had left. Now that it was vanished, there was nothing between him and the rest of the world to protect him. "I didn't _cheat_ on you!" Kurt snatched the phone from Blaine's now-limp hand. "I'm really sorry if- if this made you upset," Kurt said, sounding anything but sorry, "but it's… it- it's _okay_."

_How could Kurt not see that _of course _he was upset? _Blaine raised his eyebrows slightly at Kurt's preposterous conclusion and insisted quietly, "It's not right." He laughed bitterly under his breath and then said in a stronger tone, "But it's '_okay_.'" Blaine's voice formed imaginary quotation marks around the words Kurt had used.

Kurt's face was unforgiving and unyielding, as if made of stone, and suddenly it was too much, and Blaine turned around, quick, and walked towards the door, his hand pressed against his mouth.

"Where are you going now?" Kurt asked impatiently, and Blaine could just feel the condescending eye-roll that accompanied the question, even though his back was to Kurt.

"I'm going home," he said thickly, pausing in the doorway, but not turning around.

"Blaine, you're blowing this completely out of proportion! It was just a few texts, it's really not a big deal."

Of course it wasn't a big deal to Kurt; Kurt wasn't the one who was going to be left behind. And just to make everything topple over the verge of what Blaine could bear, it finally fully struck him that he'd already lost Kurt, lost him the moment a boy named Chandler asked for his number.

Blaine left without another word, not sure that he could speak if he wanted to, grateful that Finn was holed up in his room playing video games and Burt was in D.C., because it meant that there was no one to see him as he fled to his car and drove away, one arm clutched across his chest as if that could keep it from ripping itself apart.

Cooper jumped up from the couch the moment Blaine slammed the door shut behind him and was calling "What's wrong?" before he could even make it up the stairs.

Blaine ignored him anyway and almost ran to his room, kneeling on the bed and biting his lip hard and clenching his fists so tightly that his nails dug into the flesh of his palms and left purple crescent-shaped bruises there.

"Squirt," Cooper's voice issued from the doorway, and Blaine growled under his breath, because, honestly, the only other person he'd hate more to see him in this state was Kurt, and it was already too late for that.

"Go away," he snarled, and then winced, because his voice was rough and croaky and sounded God awful.

"I know we haven't been close, but you can tell -"

"I'm _telling_ you to leave me alone."

Blaine heard Cooper's weight shift and knew he'd left, and he was just scrolling through the play lists on his iPod because music was the only thing he knew that could encompass something so unspeakably awful, when he felt Cooper's presence return.

"I found a pair of Dad's old boxing gloves," Cooper said almost hesitantly, as if he would have been unsure of himself if uncertainty wasn't an emotion that Cooper was entirely unfamiliar with. "Do you want to spar with me? See if I'm any better at it than I was that time you tried to teach me and I got frustrated and stormed out?"

Blaine looked up over his shoulder at Cooper's hopeful smile, and found himself grinning weakly back in return. "You know you're going down, right?" he teased halfheartedly.

"Don't underestimate me. I'm not going to go easy on you just because you're upset."

Blaine smirked and hopped off the bed, grapping the tape to wrap his hands with as he went. "Have you ever gone easy on me for any reason?"

"_That's _the kid brother I know," Cooper said proudly, slinging his arm loosely around Blaine's shoulder's as they left the room together.

* * *

><p>It had been torture to sit next to Kurt through their shared classes and pretend that everything was normal. Blaine couldn't look at him. He thought that he'd want to make Kurt feel as rejected as he had, but every time he glanced over at the boy next to him, Blaine's stomach turned over and remembrance of the previous night's argument tore through him. Blaine was furious that he couldn't even piece himself back together enough to prove to Kurt that he didn't need anybody's love to be perfectly fine.<p>

It was a relief to stand up and announce firmly that he was ready when Mr. Schue called for anyone who'd finished their song for the week. "This is for anyone who's ever been cheated on," he said, setting his teeth angrily as, finally, the song gave him something to hide behind so that he could say what he really wanted to.

"This is insane," Kurt interjected coldly as the drummer began playing. "I didn't _cheat _on you."

Blaine ignored him, because this was _his _moment, _his_ song, _his _feelings, and he didn't care if it meant Kurt had to sit back on a stool and take it and listen. He began singing, and was vaguely aware that the members of the Glee Club were staring back and forth between himself and Kurt with wide, shocked, expressions, but he hardly saw them. In an awful, twisted way, the only thing that he _could_ look at now was Kurt, just when he'd so wanted to be cold and detached. This had been supposed to show Kurt that he didn't care, but even he could hear that his voice was raw with pain and betrayal.

Kurt, however, narrowed his eyes and glared at him, his entire demeanor exuding irritation and disbelief and hostility, and it made Blaine angry enough to keep going… Until he snapped that he'd _rather be alone than unhappy_ with just a bit more venom than he had intended, and Kurt's entire expression crumbled. Kurt brought his hand up to his face as if to hide it and his eyes lost their cold glare and became human again. Blaine was left feeling remorseful, which was unbelievably irritating, because hadn't this been what Blaine had wanted in the first place, to make Kurt feel as hurt as he did?

Now that he had to face everything he'd felt since yesterday, cruelly reflected back at him on Kurt's face, Blaine began to crack. He wished he'd bitten his tongue and held back the comment about cheating, because now he'd put Kurt's pain and his on display for everybody to see.

Just when his voice was about to falter, because suddenly he was uncertain about all of this, the song, their relationship, _everything_, Santana's voice chimed in and filled the tiny gap. In an instant, the whole Glee club was in support of him, singing along with him, meeting his eyes instead of merely casting the covert, nosey glances he'd been getting before.

"_Was it really worth you going out like that?_" Blaine sang, and he found himself hesitating as if for an answer before he moved on to the next line, because he really did want to know, to understand what he'd done wrong that made him so inadequate to everybody he'd ever tried to love. But he wasn't going to get an answer now, or probably ever, because even if there was one, Kurt was probably saying it to _Chandler_ instead of to him. With that thought, Blaine gave up and let himself release his tenuous grip on self-control, because really, what was the point in holding anything back when there was nothing left to lose?

He screamed out the last lines of the song, almost sobbing them, and then stood for a moment, breathing heavily, oblivious to the fact that everyone was clapping as loudly as they ever had and many were whooping enthusiastically. He was finally fully meeting Kurt's eyes, and everything that had happened in the past twenty four hours came crashing down on Blaine. It was over. He'd ruined it. Why couldn't he have just swallowed his stupid pride and put the phone back down and acted normal and let Chandler fulfill everything that he wasn't good enough for?

He whirled around while he was still able to, hardly containing the rage thrashing in his chest, and nearly ran to the locker room, wrestling with the lock on his locker until it finally yielded with a click and yanking the door open, allowing it to crash loudly against the lockers behind it. Blaine tore off the vest he wore and then fought with the suffocating buttons at the top of his collar, infuriatingly small under his trembling fingers. Finally he got that off, too, and then ripped off his undershirt, letting his nails scratch along the sides of his torso as it came off over his head because that, at least, was a pain he could control. He finished changing and shoved on his boxing gloves and then tore into the bag in a fury, focusing all his energy into keeping his shoulders low and even and putting as much power as he possibly could into each punch. As long as he was fighting, his first instinct would be to protect himself, and he would be able to keep the broken bits of himself in one piece.

It took Blaine several minutes to realize that tears were running down his cheeks, mingling with the sweat that coated his face and dripped off his jaw, but once he did, he gave up and sank onto the concrete floor of the locker room, shaking with the exertion it took not to scream. He pressed his forehead against his fists, not caring that his boxing gloves were disgusting and grimy and smelled awful. His chest was ripping itself apart while, at the same time, something terribly heavy was crushing in on it, making his breath come in weird shuddery gasps. _So this is why they call it a broken heart_.

Not even the song had been right. He had imagined himself strong and angry and confident to the point of arrogance. Instead, all he'd been was hurt and he hated himself for not being able to give himself at least that much dignity.

Suddenly, the door opened and there was the click of high heels coming across the floor, and Blaine wiped the back of his hand hurriedly across his face and tried to hide his tears, even as more pooled in his eyes. A strong female voice said in an impressed tone, "That song was badass."

Blaine flinched, curling further into himself as if becoming small enough would make him invisible. "Get out," he hissed, not even bothering to be embarrassed that his voice sounded wet and pathetic instead of the fierce growl he'd been going for.

"Feisty," Santana remarked, and Blaine didn't need to be looking at her to hear the smirk in her voice. "You look like hell."

"Screw you," Blaine snapped, and this time he succeeded in sounding properly angry.

"Did he really come back at three?" She asked, and her voice was curious, but not in the nosey way that would have ticked Blaine off.

"No," Blaine said, and he was surprised to find that it was accompanied with a chuckle.

"I didn't think so," Santana declared, sliding down the wall of lockers to sit next to Blaine, who jerked slightly away so that most of what was facing her was just his back. "He's not the type."

Blaine didn't answer, and they both fell silent, for so long that he was beginning to wonder if Santana had left, when she piped up again, "You know what's good? Revenge cheating."

"Very funny."

"I mean it," she protested, "but I guess you're not the type for that either."

"I don't want to punish him," Blaine said, somehow compelled to explain even though she hadn't really asked. "I want him to not have cheated on me." His voice broke slightly, and Blaine felt himself flush and cleared his throat.

"You'll be fine," Santana said, and she sounded so fierce and sure that, for a moment, Blaine believed her.

The moment passed, and he shrugged. "I guess so."

"You _guess_? Come on, Anderson. You're 'gonna make it anyway,' remember?" she quoted the song.

"I don't want to be alone," he admitted, even though the lyrics of the song had said just the opposite.

"It'll be Hummel's loss." And then, almost as if it had been obvious, an afterthought, she added, "And you'll still have me."

As she said this, Blaine realized that, while he'd been fixated on Kurt leaving for New York, Santana was another person who'd be leaving him at the end of the year. He turned around to face her, and before she could express any surprise or have time to react, he threw his arms around her and pulled her into a tight hug.

"Gross, you're all sweaty!" Santana protested, but at the same time, her arms circled around Blaine and she returned the hug.

"Too bad," Blaine muttered into her hair, though he was about to let her go because he knew how much she hated showy displays of emotion like this. But she didn't let go when he loosened his grip, so Blaine sank gratefully back into her touch and stayed there until they heard the raucous laughter of the football players returning from practice.

* * *

><p>When the bell rang to signal the end of class the next day, Blaine had leapt from his seat in the choir room and nearly fled from the room. Kurt had decided to sing his song at the very start of class, and Blaine had spent the rest of the period sitting stiffly in his plastic chair, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as if they could keep his heart from jumping out of it and silently willing himself to not, <em>not<em>, start crying again or storm out.

Now that he'd finally escaped, Blaine stood in the hallway, staring into his locker at the photo of himself and Kurt pinned with a magnet to the very back of the locker. The pictures he kept in plain view on the inside of the door were all pretty and planned, both of them always just waiting for the camera to snap the photo. This one, though, was blurry and slightly out of focus, and both their expressions were caught off guard, but it was beautiful. In it, Blaine was in the middle of laughing at something Kurt had just said, and he'd turned to face the camera, but his mouth was still open in a grin and his eyes were crinkled at the corners. Kurt was holding out his hand as if telling the person on the other side of the camera to stop, but his eyes were on Blaine and even through the grainy quality of the photo, Blaine could see the love in them.

_When was the last time he looked at me like that?_ Blaine wondered, and then as he found that he couldn't remember, he caught sight of the stuffed animal lying half-underneath a Calculus textbook, the Margaret Thatcher dog's huge eyes staring up at him. Just a couple of weeks ago, Kurt had been surprising him with it from behind his locker door and then sweetly taking his hand and telling him that he understood, that family stuff was hard.

_What had gone so wrong in between then and now?_

As if fate had somehow read Blaine's thoughts and twisted them around into a cruel joke, Kurt's voice suddenly said coolly from behind Blaine's open locker, "Well? Did you like the song?"

Blaine jumped and glanced at Kurt, then dropped his eyes quickly and nodded, staring at the ground. "Yeah," he said. He took a moment to swallow and get over his surprise, and then let his eyes flicker back up to Kurt's face for a moment as he added, "You did Whitney justice."

Blaine stood, one hand on his locker door, waiting for Kurt to say what he'd really come for or for him to head to class, but instead Kurt exhaled in a huff and said impatiently, "That's it?"

"What's it?" Blaine asked, wondering what it was he could have already said wrong, and thinking that maybe that was their problem, that apparently his responses were off all the time and he didn't even realize it.

"Blaine, I sang my heart out to you, and all you have to say is that I did Whitney _justice_? What's wrong with you?" Kurt was looking expectant, nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet, his face looking like it did when he'd finished a number that everybody knew was spectacular and was waiting for Mr. Schue to comment on it.

"I don't know, why don't you tell me," Blaine said quietly, looking away again.

"How long are you going to hold this against me? I said I was sorry, how long is it going to take for you to stop blaming me for nothing?"

"Why do you keep on telling me that what I think is nothing?"

Kurt sighed and then said, rolling his eyes, "You know that's not what I-"

"But it is, Kurt, it's exactly what you meant," Blaine interrupted. "It doesn't matter to you at all that you cheated."

"Because I _didn't_."

"That's why I'm still 'holding it against you.' You didn't say you were sorry, you sang me a song so that I could run into your arms and tell you that what you did is okay. And how can you even apologize for something that you don't think you did?"

"I'm sorry you're upset," Kurt repeated, as if it was the same thing.

"But you're not sorry you cheated on me." Kurt opened his mouth impatiently to argue, but Blaine shut his locker and looked up at him. "You know what? Forget it. I should have expected this after your song. You'll '_never change all your colors for me_,' right?

Kurt stared. "So, what? This is it? You're breaking up with me?"

"No!" Blaine said quickly, frightened by how calm Kurt seemed about that prospect, and then he looked down, embarrassed at how desperate that had sounded. "I don't forgive you, but that doesn't mean I'm quitting. I don't just _give up_ and go flirt with some other guy when I don't like what someone's doing."

Kurt's eyes tightened at that, and Blaine winced. "Okay. That was out of line, I know-"

"No," Kurt interrupted, sounding cold again. "Go ahead. Say it. Get it all out."

"I- I just wish you'd _told_ me how bad it was to be _my boyfriend_. I would have listened." Blaine was suddenly exhausted as he realized that this was almost exactly what he'd said in Kurt's bedroom. Nothing he had tried to do had changed anything.

"It's a little hard to tell you when you never want to be around me in the first place!" Kurt snapped, and then the late bell rang before Blaine could ask what that was supposed to mean. Kurt turned and walked off in the direction of his next class, leaving those parting words to ring in Blaine's ears and make him wonder if they were true.

* * *

><p>Blaine didn't look up as the phone in his Chemistry class rang and the teacher went to answer it. He kept on scribbling down notes, thinking happily of the shot glass Puck had given him, and almost forgetting about Kurt in the realization that he'd been accepted by all the other members of the Glee club as one of them, even when they were just weeks away from graduating and moving on to their separate lives-<p>

"Blaine!" the teacher repeated sharply, and his head snapped up from the absent-minded doodle he'd been forming in the margin of his notes. "Miss Pillsbury wants you down in guidance now."

"Right now?" Blaine asked, his brow furrowing.

She nodded. "Take your things with you, she said it might be a while."

Blaine frowned, gathering his notes together into a messy stack and shoving them into his messenger bag. His mind raced through the past few days as he tried to think of what he'd done that would get him into trouble. There had been storming out of Glee club in the middle of their practice… but that had been after school anyway, and at least one person in the New Directions was almost always upset about something, so it wasn't uncommon for someone to burst out and leave… and he _had _been absent-minded and preoccupied in the past couple of days, but not nearly as much so as the girl who slept through Latin class next to him every day…

By this time, Blaine had reached Miss Pillsbury's office, and his eyebrows shot up as he saw Kurt already seated inside. "Blaine, have a seat," Miss Pillsbury said as Blaine knocked lightly on the edge of the doorway. "No need to look so worried. Did you think you were in trouble?"

"Yeah," Blaine said, staring around at his surroundings, a little lost in the pastel-themed room scattered with numerous but very meticulously organized pamphlets whose covers bore cliché little sayings. He hadn't been in this room since the morning his parents came to finalize the papers for his school transfer, and he still wasn't entirely used to the idea that, at McKinley, guidance counselors were more like therapists than disciplinarians, and that students seemed to seek out their guidance counselors for personal reasons, as if an adult they didn't know was going to care about their petty problems, let alone be expected to fix them.

"This is nothing to be concerned about," Miss Pillsbury assured him sweetly, and Blaine couldn't help but like her for her so purely good intentions, even if she _was_ one of the most oblivious people he'd ever met, with exception of Brittany. "Have a seat and relax."

Blaine slipped his messenger bag off his shoulder and sat cautiously down next to Kurt, casting him a skeptical glance as he did so, already wary, because why was Miss Pillsbury telling him to relax if there was really nothing to worry about? "I'm a little confused as to what we're doing here," he said, narrowing his eyes and looking as Miss Pillsbury critically.

"Well, um, Kurt said that you two might need a little couple's counseling," she explained cheerily, as if it was entirely _normal_ for her to be interjecting herself into their business.

"Are you qualified for that?" Blaine asked, giving Kurt another perplexed glance, because this seemed so unlike him, though nothing Kurt had done recently seemed like something that the boy he fell in love with would do.

"Not really… or at all," she said, and then, entirely unfazed, continued, "But Sam and Mercedes came to talk to me, and, you know, I think they found it pretty helpful."

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure they broke up," Blaine said, and was disappointed when the note of irony in his voice was entirely lost upon her in the midst of her ingratiatingly optimistic response.

"Brutal honesty is the cornerstone of any relationship," she forged on, "and I want you to feel like this is a safe space for you to air your differences."

_As if having spectators to my collapsing relationship would make me feel any safer._ But honesty _was_ something that they needed, so Blaine seized the opportunity since it was clear he wasn't going to get out of having this conversation. "Okay," he said quickly, before Kurt could jump in and monopolize the conversation. "Well, first of all, Kurt has been texting this guy." Blaine could hear Kurt sighing impatiently in the background and knew without looking that he was rolling his eyes, but he wasn't about to let Kurt interrupt so early on. "And I got…" _Honesty, _Blaine reminded himself, "… really upset. Although, a while back, I was- I was sort of doing the same thing-"

Blaine looked over at Kurt, wanting to make sure Kurt knew he was being acknowledged, but Kurt was already speaking the moment he hesitated.

"With a guy who almost _blinded_ him!" Kurt added, as if that made a difference. "Blaine, I _sang you a song _to express my regrets."

_But that doesn't take back what you did._ Instead of saying that, Blaine moved on, a million little offenses that he hadn't really even cared about when they'd happened springing to his mind. "Okay, if we're here to be 'brutally honest,' there are a few things I would like to change."

"I am _actively listening_," Kurt interrupted again in a tone that was self-satisfied and shut off and _this was why therapy was stupid_, Blaine thought,_ because people got so wrapped up in saying the right thing that there was no room in the midst of all the fake, sugar-coated lies to be any kind of honest._

"Well, for starters, Kurt has a tendency to snap his fingers at wait staff. The cheesecake is on it's way, Kurt, you don't have to snap your fingers, it's not gonna make it come any faster." Blaine knew that he was being petty as he snapped his own fingers as if to punctuate his point, but he was afraid that if he brought up the things that really mattered to him, he would give up too much of himself, say something that he'd never be able to undo or take back. And how could he trust Kurt anymore to show him that he cared about something, when all that seemed to have gotten him was having it thrust rudely back into his face?

"But, also, please stop slipping bronzer into my moisturizer," Blaine heard himself continuing, ignoring whatever Kurt had just said in reply, because this wasn't really about the finger-snapping or the bronzer at all.

"You look good with a little color," Kurt justified, and this made the pit of Blaine's stomach twist, because it was just another, though less significant, instance where what Blaine felt about something clearly didn't matter to Kurt at all.

Blaine stuck to what wasn't really important, because at least that couldn't be twisted around to prick him as soon as he said it, and he snapped, "I only use lotion on my hands, it looks weird if a person just has tan _hands_!"

Miss Pillsbury was saying something, trying to mediate, but suddenly Blaine was sick of pretending that things were fine when they weren't, so he ignored her and turned to actually look at Kurt, saying, "And while we're being perfectly honest, I don't like that with every conversation, we end up always talking about NYADA."

At this, Kurt's head snapped over to really _see_ Blaine, and Blaine froze for an instant, terrified that he'd gone too far. But then Kurt narrowed his eyes, in a way that was contemplative instead of just skeptical, and Blaine knew that, for once, Kurt really _was_ actively listening. It was too late to unsay the words, so he kept on going. "What song you're going to sing, what outfit you're going to wear to your call-back, how _amazing_ New York is."

Blaine looked away for a moment and paused to take a breath, but this time, Kurt didn't have anything to add and was just watching and waiting, seeming surprised, but not angry. "And it's like… New York is the only thing we talk about now, Kurt." Blaine's voice broke, but now that he was finally saying everything he'd wanted to since Kurt had gotten his Finalist letter, he couldn't stop and the words tumbled out of their own accord, unstoppable, stronger than the dam that had held them back for so long. "And it's like-" Blaine glanced uncomfortably at Miss Pillsbury, "-it's like you can't even wait to get out of here." There was a beat of silence, and Blaine asked helplessly, "How's that supposed to make me feel?"

Kurt's face had softened and he looked almost remorseful, but he didn't say anything, and Blaine found himself somehow still talking. "In a few months, you're going to be gone. With this brand-new life, these brand new friends, this brand new _everything_, and I'm going to be right here. By myself." His voice caught on the word "friends," and suddenly he was almost in tears again, but Blaine couldn't bring himself to care. This was what Kurt had wanted. _Brutal honesty_. It wasn't his fault anymore if he'd just marred Kurt's joy of going to New York City.

"You're right," he added as he remembered Kurt's final words to him yesterday at his locker. "I have been distant." Blaine looked down and swallowed and tried to will himself to get it together and talk like a normal person. "And I'm sorry, but I'm just… I'm trying to practice what life is going to be like without you." Blaine looked up and met Kurt's gaze. "You are the love of my life, Kurt, and I am pissed off that I have to learn, for the next year, what being alone is going to be like."

And then the Kurt that Blaine had fallen in love with was back, as suddenly as he'd disappeared the moment he found Blaine with that phone in his hands. Now he was reaching out to take Blaine's hand, his face soft and earnest and loving. "But you're not going to be alone! I'm going to Skype you every day, and you're going to come visit me in New York every weekend, as far as I'm concerned." Blaine looked down and tried to smile, suddenly feeling like he'd made a fool of himself, but Kurt wasn't done yet. "But I _promise_, you aren't going to lose me."

"I love you so much," Blaine managed to whisper, and Kurt gave his hands a squeeze and whispered the words back. He smiled at Blaine and reached out, leaning over and wrapping his arms around Blaine's shoulders, pulling him close. Blaine welcomed the embrace and let himself melt into it, allowing his fingers to dig slightly into Kurt's back and pretending that he need never let go.

"I really am sorry," Kurt whispered into Blaine's ear, his breath moist and gently tickling.

"It's okay." Blaine buried his nose into Kurt's neck and inhaled the familiar smell that he hadn't realized he'd missed. And as Kurt pressed a kiss onto the side of Blaine's face, Blaine smiled genuinely and realized with an inexplicable conviction that this time the words were true, because they loved each other, and that was enough to make a couple thousand miles between them be perfectly okay.

* * *

><p><strong>I hope you liked this... and, I know I say this every time I update, but really, thank you for sticking with me during my long inactive periods between updates. If I had a choice, I'd spend all my time writing and updating for you all.<strong>

****You may have noticed that this story is marked as "Complete" now... it's not actually complete, but since these are one-shots that stand alone from each other, I decided it would make more sense to mark it as such. But don't fear, there will most definitely be more updates... eventually.****

**I was pretty nervous posting this because it's less reserved than what I usually write, so leave a review and let me know what you think!**


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